


Dancing for Sam Winchester - Part 4 (End)

by Winchester_with_Wings



Series: Dancing for Sam Winchester [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 01:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester_with_Wings/pseuds/Winchester_with_Wings
Summary: Sam and you pick up where you left off and maybe even have a first date? Is it really a "first" date?





	Dancing for Sam Winchester - Part 4 (End)

**Author's Note:**

> Dancing for Sam Winchester was one of my first fanfics. It was a bit long and so I broke it into two parts. But people loved it and requested more! So I wrote a part 3. I tried to plan out more to the story, but I have left people hanging long enough and decided this was the last part. One of my new years resolutions was to finish all of my ongoing fanfic series. This is one of them I guess. I hope ya’ll like it. And thank you all for your love and patience!

Your mind and body are playing tricks on you in the morning. You wake up in a daze, exhausted, as if you hadn’t slept at all. Thoughts and images of Sam Winchester dance around in your mind and behind your closed eyes. You think you must’ve been dreaming about him.

Was yesterday just a dream too?

No. It couldn’t have been. The muscles in your legs and abdomen are too sore from your  _activities_  with Sam to be a dream. Sure it’s been a while but you know the tender aches of good sex. But still…

There’s a wetness between your legs now which is new and familiar. You really must’ve been dreaming about Sam. Imagining his strong, large hands running up and down your body, molding you like clay and building you up into a climax.

You arch and stretch your body like a cat waking up from a nap. Goosebumps raise over every inch of skin and you let out a moan that sounds downright pornographic. Of course, with Sam on the brain, you imagine what a morning with him would be like. Your moan would only be one of many sounds he’d likely elicit. That is…if Sam wants to wake up with you beside him. You have so many insecure doubts running through your head that it has you drawing a blank of what Sam had said for himself yesterday.

He wanted you? He actually needed you?

Maybe you  _need_  hearing aids.

After dressing in sweats and a sports bra, you set about some quick morning chores. Your phone is playing music through the speaker as you walk into the laundry room.

You sing along and move your hips to the music. You figure Dean is still sleeping and Sam is out on his morning run. You figured wrong.

“Every time I turn around, I find you dancing,” Sam speaks with a raspy voice and chuckles. You whirl around, surprised to find the tall Winchester leaning in the doorway. “Have you always danced this often?” he asks as he struts toward you. He’s in gym shorts and a tank top, his chest heaving and his collarbone gleaming with sweat.

God he looks sexy. You can’t–and don’t even try to– stop yourself from looking him up and down hungrily. You nod with a coy smile.

“Maybe you just weren’t paying attention. Most people don’t,” you speak just above a whisper. You chew on your bottom lip and Sam’s gaze darts to your mouth. His hazel eyes are dark and predatory as he approaches you.

“No, you’re wrong,” he growls, coming to a stop inches from your face. You have to tilt your head back to look up at him. “I’ve always paid attention to you and your body. It’s actually been a distraction before…” Sam’s hands trail up the sides of your body. You inhale the salty but still pleasant smell of his sweat. Sam eats so clean that he hardly ever stinks.

“Oh really?” you say, actually surprised by his admission. Sam surprises you again by grabbing your waist and picking you up. He sets you down on the rattling washing machine, positioning himself between your open legs. He palms the tops of your thighs and then tangles his fingers in your hair as he cups the back of your head; you’re at eye level with him now. He leans forward to nip at that bottom lip you’d tantalized him with. He teases you in kind as he nuzzles you, kissing your jaw and throat. You hold onto Sam’s shoulders, opening yourself for him and then nipping at his earlobe; he growls against your pulse.

“Heyheyhey! Sammy! Hands off the lady!” Dean cuts you guys off as he enters the laundry room. He throws a pair of socks at the back of Sam’s head. “This is exactly what I was talking about! No nookie in communal areas! Are we gonna have a problem?”

Dean drops his own basket of laundry and crosses his arms over his chest; his gray robe and bare feet are hardly intimidating. You giggle, burying your face in the curve of Sam’s neck. He sighs as he pulls you off the washing machine and takes a step back, and then he holds up his hands as a surrender.

“You nasty little…” Dean murmurs as he turns away and leaves. “Breakfast is in the kitchen. Try to keep the syrup on the pancakes?” he calls over his shoulder.

Just the thought of that sticky mess makes you grimace but Sam quirks an eyebrow like he’s mulling it over. You throw your own piece of laundry at him, appalled. He catches it. You didn’t realize what it was until he unraveled the wad of lace panties. Sam smirks and tucks the underwear into his waistband, leaving you staring, dumbfounded and weak in the knees.

* * *

As you pack for the upcoming hunt, you take some time to clean up your room. It started that way after you changed your shirt, tossing it into your dirty laundry pile. But you couldn’t find a shirt to replace it just yet. So you went about your business in your sports bra, with no concern for the open door.

You’re loving your body for once.

Sam might have something to do with that. Music is playing on your phone again while you stuff your duffle bag. Your hunter instincts tell you to turn around. Sam is in your doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his broad pecs. You snatch a shirt out of your duffle and hold it to your chest. Sam winks and walks away without a word.

You roll your eyes and put your shirt on, tossing your hair up into a messy bun and huffing as you try to exercise control over your room since you clearly can’t control the butterflies in your stomach.

A few minutes later, you hear someone clear their throat. Since Sam had snuck up on you moments ago, you assume this time it must be Dean.

“There’s nothing to eat here,” Sam grumbles, leaning on the doorframe again but this time with his arm propping himself up. After the big breakfast Dean had made, you’re not surprised, but surely there was something to eat. “Do you wanna go get lunch with me?”

“What? Like you mean go out for lunch?” Why can’t you seem to grasp that concept? Sam looks like he’s wondering that too, judging by the smirk he gives you.

“Yeah, let’s go get lunch. I mean, we could go grab take out or some fast food but that just means we’ll be coming back here to Dean’s grumpy ass,” Sam jokes. You giggle and Sam gives you a soft smile that you’d come to notice only in the last 48 hours or so.

“Yeah, sure. I could eat.”

* * *

But what would you eat?

Sitting in some roadside diner, you’re staring at the menu as if it’s a foreign language. You’ve been here countless times. So why are you hesitant? You know what you want. A double bacon cheeseburger with fries.

But you’ve stalled.

This feels like a date. Are you on a date with Sam Winchester? Is this your first official date? It’s been so long since you’ve been on a date. Your instinct is to do the mousy thing and order something light, like a salad.

Sam has already seen you naked. He knows what you look like. But the insecurity remains.

Once you order a greasy burger, he’ll be reminded of your unhealthy, similar to Dean’s, eating habits, and then he’ll realize that maybe that’s why you’re so curvy and he’ll no longer be interested in you.

A tiny part of you wants to reassure you that Sam isn’t that shallow.

But your own insecurities are making you the shallow one.

“What can I get for your two?” the waitress asks. Sam orders one of his go-to meals. A turkey burger with a salad instead of fries. “And you hun?” You can’t help but feel like this waitress –a young 20-something girl with a tiny waist and perky C-cups– is silently judging the pair of you. What is a hunk like Sam doing with a girl like you? She must be thinking.

“I’ll have the garden salad. With ranch dressing on the side.” You try not to sound too sheepish. Sam frowns at you. The waitress writes it down and walks away.

“Why did you order that? You don’t like the salads here,” Sam comments. You try not to smile at the fact that Sam has remembered such a small detail. “You don’t like ‘diner’ salads. Why didn’t you order what you usually get?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, unrolling the cheap silverware from the paper napkin. You lay the napkin in your lap and keep your hands on top of your thighs.

“You usually get the bacon burger with fries,” Sam continues to frown.

“Well maybe I wanted to change it up,” you say a little too quickly, still not meeting his gaze.

“Y/N?” Sam says your name in a soft whisper. He reaches across the table and holds his hand open, palm up, asking for your hand. You place it there. “I don’t know if I made this clear, but I’d like to think of this like a first date. But it’s not.”

Your heart sinks.

“We’ve known each other long enough. Shared meals and even lumpy motel beds…and then…my own bed at the bunker,” he says that last part in a husky voice with a smirk. Your cheeks and ears are burning. “This isn’t a first date. Because I know and care so much for you already.” Sam notes that the waitress is on her way back to the table. You go to remove your hand from Sam’s but his long fingers wrap around yours. “But if you want this to be our first official date. It needs to be genuine. Don’t pretend to be someone that you’re not.” HIs eyebrows knit together as he gives your those sweet hazel puppy dog eyes.

“Here are your drinks,” the waitress says, having to reach over yours and Sam’s hand. “Anything else I can get for you?” She only looks at Sam. You can’t blame her, although you feel a bit jealous and possessive.

“Yes, actually. We’re changing her order. It’s going to be the double bacon cheeseburger with fries. A side of ranch. No tomatoes and extra mayo on the burger.”

Sam orders it word for word; he knows it by heart.

And as if you weren’t already positive, you knew he possessed your heart as well.


End file.
